


Psyche and Arachne

by PFDiva



Category: The Mechanisms (Band)
Genre: Death and Rebirth, M/M, i've connected two dots and i don't care what you say i've connected them, just read the story you'll see what i mean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:21:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27948971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PFDiva/pseuds/PFDiva
Summary: Psyche, newly rebodied after revealing what Athena has done to Arachne, shares his story with Hades while he waits to be able to leave.
Relationships: Psyche/Arachne|Cupid (The Mechanisms)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	Psyche and Arachne

**Author's Note:**

> I will maintain until the day I die that the so-called monster in Stranger is what became of Arachne after Twisted Threads. I also believe that Stranger is Psyche and Cupid. Hence, this story.

Psyche woke with a gasp. His mind was screaming, he was screaming, everything was screaming. Except it wasn't. Not anymore. The screaming wasn't there anymore. Neither were the grinding orders, the unending, horrific sameness of it all, the lucid knowledge that he would forever be aware of his inability to decay.

He was cold.

He painfully peeled open his eyes to find himself in a sterile room, with a strange person sitting nearby, reading what looked like a magazine. The surface under him was hard, plasticy. Cold. Real. The room was too bright and his throat hurt.

He opened his mouth to speak, and all that came out was a raspy croak.

"You don't wanna do that," advised the stranger, setting aside the magazine to move to Psyche's side, just out of his line of sight. He closed his eyes, which were so heavy, exhausted already by the effort of thinking.

A plastic straw poked itself into his mouth and he reflexively sucked on it. Cool, soothing moisture filled his mouth. Not water, but strangely delicious. He wanted more. He drank as much as he could, swallowed and swallowed until his shrunken belly swelled painfully, until the straw rattled at the bottom of the glass.

"Probably shouldn't have let you have that much," muttered the stranger, but Psyche didn't care. He was full and his mind wasn't screaming anymore. Physical pain meant nothing.

Psyche woke with a groan. He was sore all over. He hungered. He was still cold.

"Are we awake again?"

"How long was I out?" rasped Psyche.

"Couple hours."

"I'm alive?"

"Seems like it."

"I pissed off an Olympian."

"Seems like a bad life choice," chuckled the stranger. Psyche painfully curled in on himself, easing the pressure.

"Didn't mean to."

"Few people do." Then "But indulge my curiosity."

He opened his eyes to look at the stranger. It was still too bright, but their clothing was dark, their skin was dark, their hair and hat were dark. They were a relief to set his eyes on.

"Yeah?"

"Tell me who's rebodying a third-rate spin artist who pissed off an Olympian?"

It all came back in an awful, painful rush, and he covered his face with one hand, wishing he could cry.

"Cupid."

"Who?"

Right. "I guess his name's actually Arachne?" The stranger hissed in what sounded like sympathy.

"I always knew him as Cupid. It's a simple story: boy meets boy, boys fall in love, boys come to live together."

Psyche could hear the stranger shift, sitting back in their seat.

"Only it wasn't that simple, eh?"

"It wasn't that simple," Psyche agreed.

"Isn't Arachne dead?"

"Technically. But he still spins."

"And you?"

"Met him online. He's still alive, in the internet. Like you said, I was a third-rate spin artist, nothing special. But I told true stories. You read the one about Ulysses?"

"Which one?"

"The one that talked about Ulysses' wife and kid and academic career."

"That was you?"

"That was me."

There is a wistfulness in the stranger's voice, "You made Ulysses sound like a person. Not a war hero or a drunk or an addict, even if they were all those things."

"You knew Ulysses?"

"Yeah." That's all he gets. After a few moments to give the stranger a chance to keep going, he continues his own story.

"Cupid--ah--Arachne and I, we met online. He said he liked my writing. Kept saying it. Eventually, we went to real-time conversation. He was kind and funny. Sharp, but in a real good way. Kept me on my toes. I wanted to meet him in person. He hesitated."

Psyche paused at the memory, pressing his face into the coolness of the table.

"Guess I know why, now. But I pushed and teased and….eventually, he invited me to his place. It was nice. Not on the surface, but only a few levels down from it. He just said I couldn't have lights up when he was around, because they bothered his head, and I couldn't go down into his workroom. But there was so much to see and explore and I loved him, so I didn't care."

"....I feel like there's a but coming."

"My sisters came to visit. And my mother. They wanted to see him better, they worried about me, and when he was away, suggested….well. All number of nefarious ideas. I shouldn't have listened to them."

"Why?"

"Because they were right."

"He had nefarious intentions?"

"He's not alive! He's just...data. Digital. Spinning for Athena. The body I thought was his? It was just a robot. A construct. It wasn't _real_."

"How did this lead to you pissing off an Olympian?"

"I went home. I told my story. Revealed Athena's ploy to talk through him. And then...I woke up here."

Rebodied. He'd been in the Acheron. He knew that. He could feel the screaming awfulness of it in the back of his mind.

Cupid had paid for him to be rebodied and he didn't know why.

The stranger stood, and he looked up. He didn't hurt so much. He could probably get up now. Move around. Leave.

"Is that it?"

"That's it," they agreed.

"What do I do now?"

"Enjoy your second chance, I suppose."


End file.
